Letters Unsent
by Kylie-Chan
Summary: A series of letters that the greasers write to the people they hate.
1. Steve

A/N: An idea I got while I was dozing off in Civics. There is going to be 7 chapters for this fic, one for each greaser. They're going to be a letter to someone each greaser hates. This chapter is a letter from Steve to his dad. Enjoy.:D

Disc.: God I hate doing these. I don't own 'The Outsiders'. It belongs to S.E. Hinton.

WARNING: Some swearing.

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Dear Dad,

You never cared. I can deal with that, I guess. No, no I can't. I hate it. I hate you and everything you are. You stupid, drunken bastard I hope you die. I had to raise myself because you could never do it. I had to do everything by myself, because you could never help. Well, no that's not completely true. I had help from Sodapop.

I bet you don't even know who Soda is, huh, dad? If I ever brought him over, you were always either passed out or too drunk to notice. Soda, for your information, is my best friend; he has been since about 2nd or 3rd grade. But like I said, you probably don't know that. And I bet you don't know Evie either. Even though she'd been over there maybe 100 times, and even though she practically broke down on our doorstep because I got thrown in jail.

Speaking of which, where were you when I was in jail? 'Cause it's not like I ever saw you. The gang came to visit me, and so did Evie. Even Two-Bit's mom came in to see me. But did you? No. Not one. Not a single, fucking time. Why not? I know you weren't too busy. All you ever do is get drunk and watch t.v. Oh, hey, dad, did I ever tell you where I went all those times you kicked me out? I got to Soda's house. Even though his parents are dead, and his older brother works himself to pay for him, Soda, and their younger brother to live okay, they still let me sleep on their couch if I need a place to stay. Sure you give me money the next day, but hasn't anyone ever told you that money doesn't make everything all better? Of course not. Because money means booze, and booze makes you feel better, huh, dad? But just to let you know, that doesn't make anything better for me.

I work, dad. Did you even know that? Yeah, I work with Soda at a DX. We get the most customers in town. Great, huh? Not like you'd care, I just wanted to let you know. Oh, and what were you doing last month when two of my friends died? Remember? I was holed up in my room, sobbing and crying like a little kid. You never asked me if I was okay, or what was wrong. You just didn't give a damn. You still don't. But you know what dad? Go to hell. You can just go straight to hell, because as far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me already. You have been for a long time.

Just thought I'd tell you that, because even if you never read this, it's still important. It's important because I wrote it and it's how I feel. So I hope you have a great life, dad, or whatever's left of it. 'Cause I may not have had a great life, but it was good, and you were never apart of it. I just wanted to tell you that, dad.

Love,

Steve R.

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I liked writing this. Tell me what you think, and if it's even worth continuing. Reviews only make me happier and more willing to update.:)


	2. Dallas

A/N: Thank you, lovely reviewers.:) lol, I was writing this chapter in Science and my friend saw it and freaked out. She thought the letter was from me, and was like 'WTF WHY ARE YOU WRITING THAT!'. XD It was funny. But anyways, this is Dally's chapter….so, have fun.

WARNING: Swearing.

Disc.: Same as the first chapter.

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Dear God,

I hate you. You don't even know how much I fuckin' hate you, you son of a bitch. Do you even know what you did to me? I bet you don't, you asshole. So let me fill you in.

One, you gave me the worst fuckin' life a guy could have. Well, not the worst, but pretty damn bad. My parents never gave a damn about me, and I had to live in New York and go to jail when I was 10. Jesus Christ, do you know what that fuckin' does to you? So I had to get tough to survive, and you know what, it sucked. Everything in my life was ugly and cold for the longest time.

But then I found Johnny. Sweet, nice, and quiet little Johnnycake. He was the most innocent and caring kid I ever knew. He practically worshipped me, even though I'm an asshole, and was always praising me or defending me if someone shot their mouth off about me, even though I didn't deserve it. The kid was the only good and beautiful thing in my life, and I loved him more than anything.

You gave Johnny a rough life too. His dad beat the shit out of him nearly every day, and his mom bitched and screamed at him all the time. Why the fuck did you give Johnny parents like that? He didn't deserve that, he deserved so much better than those scumbags. It was killing him to have parents like that, do you know that? He couldn't get mean and angry, like me. It just broke him up, made him suicidal sometimes. And then, as if getting beat up by his old man wasn't bad enough, you made that damned Soc bastard and his friends jump him too? What the hell were you smoking when you let that happen, huh? Did you even care that we was almost half dead when we found him? I got sick looking at him; I knew he didn't deserve that. Johnny never did anything bad to anyone.

But you know what the worst, most horrible thing you ever did to me was? You took Johnny - my sweet, innocent, almost like a little brother-, and you fucking took him away. You let him die. What in the hell was that? Ponyboy didn't die. Pony went into the damned church, and he came out just fine, so why the hell did you make Johnny get all busted up? How, in your eyes, is that fair? Johnny was the only thing in the world that mattered to me. He was the only person who truly gave a damn about me, and you let him die!

I loved Johnny. He was the most sensitive, innocent kid there was. When he killed that Soc (who deserved it anyways for what he did to Johnny), he was so torn up about it that he cried. He was only trying to save Ponyboy from getting drowned, and you killed him anyways. I needed Johnny. More than I ever needed anything. I actually prayed to you to let Johnny live. I prayed more than a damned preacher, and I meant every single word of them. But did you care? No, you didn't, obviously, or I wouldn't be writing this. Hoe do you even have the balls to say that you love all your children? That is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard in my life. If you 'love' me so much, or Johnny, than why did you let this happen? Well, you know what? Fuck you. I just hope you know that I hate you and that I hope you burn in fucking hell or something. You'll probably never see this, but you know what? I don't care. I still hate you. Because all I can feel is hate, now that you took my love away.

Very fucking sincerely,

Dallas Winston


	3. Darry

A/N: This was an interesting chapter to write. And for the last chapter: lol, well, Dally swears a lot. I'm glad you all like this so far.:)

Disclaimer: Same.

WARNING: Maybe some swearing.

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Dear Randy,

I don't know why I'm writing this. I'm probably going to take it back later; no, wait, on second thought, I don't think I will. I've been trying to hold back these feelings for too long now.

I hate you. I've tried not to, because Ponyboy's forgiven you, and I don't think Soda hates you either. But I can't help it. You tried to kill my baby brother; I can't stop hating you for that. I know you were drunk, and I know you're sorry, but what if you'd succeeded? What if you'd drowned him? Do you know what that would've done to us?

Our parents died almost a year ago. After that, I had to take care of Sodapop and Ponyboy, my younger brothers. I had to start working two jobs, and I got stressed out a lot. Sometimes I was hard on Pony, but it's only because I love him. He's my little brother, the baby of the family, and I love him to death. So does Soda. We'd already been a wreck, but what you and your friend tried to do made it even worse. If you'd have killed Ponyboy, you'd have killed us too. I bet you didn't even think about that, though. You and your friend thought that some petty argument was worth taking someone's life over.

I'm sorry that your friend died. Pony told me that ya'll were real close. But I can't say that I'm sorry that he died instead of Ponyboy. Then I'd be lying, and I want to make this as truthful as I can. What you and him tried to do was wrong, and even though I don't think he should've died, I'm glad it was him and not Pony.

I heard Ponyboy tell Soda one night that your friend was just looking for someone to say no to him. Well, Johnny did. It may have been extreme, but he did. It was something you never did for him. You were his best friend, so how come you never said no? Why didn't you ever say 'Hey buddy, let's stop this, it ain't right'? Pony said you didn't like the fighting. If that was true, than it should've been even easier to say no to him than. But you never did. If you had, then maybe he'd be alive right now. And maybe Johnny and Dally would be too.

Say, did you and your buddy ever recognize who Johnny was? It didn't seem like it, but you know, I find it hard to believe that you could forget someone you nearly killed. Remember? You and your friends beat Johnny up, and gave him that scar he had on his face. Ya'll are the reason he had a switchblade that night that you tried to drown Ponyboy. You made Johnny afraid to go around anywhere without someone with him. And because of all that, he ended up dying. He would've never been at that church in the first place if it hadn't been for you two. Losing Johnny messed us all up pretty bad, and I hate you for that too.

Another friend of mine died too. Dallas Winston. Maybe you've heard of him, considering his reputation, but he died the same night as Johnny. He committed suicide, because Johnny was dead. Maybe that was a lucky deal for you though; if he was alive, he would've killed you for what you did to Johnny before.

I'm never gonna send this. I couldn't, because I don't want to start anything. If Ponyboy's forgiven you, then there ain't any point. But if you ever see this, somehow, then I just want to let you know that I ain't gonna stop feeling this way. I may hide it, but it won't die. I don't think it ever will.

Sincerely,

Darrel Curtis


	4. TwoBit

A/N: This was a hard one to write, mostly because Two-Bit is someone who doesn't really hate people. But then the idea struck me and I came up with this. I hope you all like it.

Disc.: Same.

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Dear Dad,

I don't usually do this. I don't really write much, especially not about stuff like this. It's a waste of time. But I don't know, I guess I feel like I have to. I have to get rid of these feelings somehow. I have to write it out, because I can't tell anyone. I don't really want anyone to know this, because I've tried so hard to fight it. But I can't fight forever; I hate you dad.

I don't hate you for what you did to me. Well, no, I do, but not as much. If it was just me you abandoned, I wouldn't be so angry. I wouldn't hate you so much. But it wasn't; you left your whole family. You left mom. Mom blamed herself for it for the longest time, you know. She thinks it was something she did wrong, that somehow she messed up. But I always saw it for what it was; you were the one who fucked up.

Okay, not always. In the beginning, I blamed myself a little. A lot, actually. I thought it was my fault for not being the perfect son that you wanted. I thought I was the one who drove you away, because I got bad grades and because I got put in detention too much. Or because I was so lazy. I cried myself to sleep every night for weeks after you left; I was so sure that it was my fault. But when I told mom, she said that it wasn't. And she was right. Then I began to realize that you left because you were a coward. That youleft because you couldn't handle taking care of a family.

Do you know what mom had to do after you left, though? She had to become a barmaid. She had to wear a skimpy outfit and go to a bar and serve drinks to rude, loud assholes, and get felt up or harassed by drunks. She had to work so much and so hard at that kind of shitty job, just to be able to put food on the table for Molly and me. She had to come home so early in the morning after being there all night long, and then she could barely even sleep because only a few hours later she'd have to get up and drive Molly and me to school. She always had black circles under her eyes, and it was hard work for her, but she never, ever bailed on us. She toughed it out; do you know what kind of an asshole that makes you look like? She never even yelled at us. She always grinned and accepted whatever we did. She's the strongest woman I know. And she's a hell of a lot stronger than you, too.

And Molly was torn up about it for awhile too, but she barely remembers you now. She's lucky, in a way. She was only four when you left, so I guess it makes sense. But for awhile after she would always come up to me or mom and ask 'Where's daddy'? We always had to say 'We don't know'. She would start crying then, and one of us would have to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. And as she got older, she almost completely forgot about you. But she still wishes she had a dad, like all the other kids.

I wasn't that lucky though. I was ten when you left. Ten. I shouldn't have had to go through that when I was ten. I just came home from school one day and mom was there, crying and telling me that you'd left, that you'd run out on us. I had to be strong for mom, because she was such a wreck for awhile. I tried really hard not to cry around her, but when I was alone, I cried a lot. I hated you then, and I hate you now. You hurt mom so much, you caused her so much pain…I hate you for that. Mom was the best woman around, and you broke her heart. You fucking idiot.

I'm a drunk now. Sort of, anyways. I started drinking when I was twelve, two years after you left, and I just couldn't stop. Alcohol makes me feel good, most of the time, and it helps me not think about you. It helps make me forget sometimes. I can even forget that I hate you when I drink enough. But that never lasts. I'm a happy guy, most of the time. Funny, lovable, and always trying to brighten everyone's days. That's why I can't ever let anyone know how much I hate you. Not even you. That's why I'll never be able to send this letter, not even if I knew where you were. Because I have to keep my mask on, and if I let anyone know about this, then my mask would be broken. And broken masks can't be mended. They're a lot like broken hearts. And you know all about those.

Sincerely,

Keith Matthews.


	5. Ponyboy

A/N: You know how I said that Two-Bit was hard to write for? Well, so is Ponyboy. But I had to give this a shot; I thought it might be interesting. –shrugs- I dunno. Hope you all like it!

Disc.: Saaaame.

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Dear Officers,

I'm going to be polite about this, because of who you are. I'll try to be, anyways. Even though I know you never took the time out to be polite to us, I figure I should try. I guess that's just another difference between us.

I don't like writing things like this, because I don't like being mean. I may be a greaser, but I don't know…I'm just don't like hurting people for kicks. It gives me a kind of sick feeling, you know, the kind that just kind of sits in your stomach. I don't like that feeling. But I get that feeling every time I think about this, so I figure that I should write it out, since that's what I'm best at. Maybe it will make me feel better. So I'll start from the beginning.

You guys have never liked us. You all think that us greasers are just JDs and hoods who like to cause trouble. So you never cared when you hauled any of us in. Just another hood off the street, right? But I never really hated you all for that…sometimes I could even understand it. Some of us do make a lot of trouble. But what you did two months ago made me hate you a lot. I got that sick feeling and everything. You killed one of my friends.

Dallas Winston. I know you know who I'm talking about; you have a record on him about a mile long. You hauled him in for just about everything if you didn't already have a guy. Dally was your scapegoat. You can't deny that, because there was one time when someone was breaking windows down at the school, and you immediately arrested Dally. He didn't say anything, but it wasn't him. I knew the guy who did it, and he was there when you hauled Dally in. Shouldn't you have noticed that the guy had a cut on his hand and Dally didn't? Or did you just not care, because you were so willing to believe that it was Dallas? It was the second one, right? Well, you don't have a scapegoat anymore. You killed him. And I had to watch it happen.

He robbed a grocery store. We all knew that, and we also knew that it wasn't nearly as bad as I'm sure you all tried to make it sound. His heater- sorry, gun, wasn't even loaded. But you all didn't seem to care. You just shot him down like it was nothing. And you had so many guys shooting, too. Wasn't the first shot enough? Did you really have to shoot him that many times? No. I don't think you did. I don't think you needed to shoot him at all; he was a wreck that night. The only person he ever cared about, and my best friend, had just died. His gun wasn't loaded when he robbed the store, or when he pointed it at you guys. I know that if Dally had been a Soc, you would've found a way not to shoot him. But Dally was just a hood to you guys.

That's why I hate you. I hate you because you all can't even keep up with what's right and what's wrong. Maybe you were just doing your job. But still, I have this feeling that if Dally had been one of the nice looking kids with rich parents, than you wouldn't have shot at him. And isn't your motto something like 'to protect and serve'? Who were you protecting when you shot a seventeen year old kid? Who were you serving? I don't understand it.

I can't send this letter. I've just decided that. You probably wouldn't read it anyways, and if you did, it'd probably just annoy you anyways. You wouldn't care, or understand it. You would say something like 'This kid is so stupid, we were just doing our jobs'. And so I can't ever send this. I can't ever tell you all that I hate you, because it wouldn't matter. Besides, I don't like hurting people's feelings. And this could hurt someone, so I won't send it. I don't like hurting people. Maybe that's another difference between all of you and me.

Sincerely,

Ponyboy Curtis


	6. Sodapop

A/N: Soda's letter of hate was difficult to come up with, simply because Soda doesn't hate anyone. At all. Because he's Soda. But, I figured that this might work, somehow. Oh. And the next and last chapter will be Johnny's. Believe it or not, I already have his letter planned out and everything; I'm posting it last because his seems to be the one that a lot of people are anxious to see.

Disc.: Same.

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Dear Someone,

I don't know who you are. I don't know your name or anything about you. At least, I hope I don't. I don't think I do. But I can't help but despise you and hate you for what I do know about you; you took away the love of my life. You stole Sandy away from me.

I hate that I hate you, and I wish to god that I didn't. But I just can't help it. I loved, no, love Sandy so much! She was the best thing to ever happen to me. She was beautiful, nice, smart, and she helped me through so much. When my parents died, she was there holding my hand and telling me that everything would be all right. When I dropped out of school, she told me that she loved me anyways, because I was doing it for my family. She understood me in a way that no one else did. I was so sure that she was the girl that I was going to marry and spend the rest of my life with.

Then you came along. I didn't know about you until two months ago when Sandy left. She was pregnant; and at first, I thought it was mine. I thought she was pregnant with my baby. That scared me and made me happy at the same time, and I proposed to her right then. Then she told me that the baby wasn't mine. That broke my heart. It made me so goddamned sad that I could barely breathe. But I still loved her. I still wanted to marry her, and I told her that. I told myself that maybe it was just a one-time thing, whatever it was that happened between you and her, and that she loved me and was sorry for it.

Then she left. She moved to Florida to live with her grandmother, because she didn't want to stay and marry me. At first, she told me that it was her parents that made her move. That she would've stayed if her parents hadn't been so against her marrying me. That broke my heart too, but I loved her, so I told her that I'd write her. I told her that once she got out of school she could come back and we could get married. I thought that she cared, because she told me that she loved me. I really thought that maybe, in the end, I'd have her anyways, because I loved her and she loved me.

I did send her a letter, and about a week after I did, I got a reply. Two of my friends had died during that time, and I was still really upset about it, so when I saw that I'd gotten a letter, I was happy. Then I found out that it was the letter I'd sent Sandy, and that it had been returned unopened. I figured out right then that she didn't love me like I thought she did, and that she didn't want me anymore. And I also figured that maybe she'd been fooling around a lot, not just one time like I'd thought. And then I began to hate you. I began to hate that you were alive, even if I didn't know who you were. I knew enough, and that was that you took away my beautiful Sandy.

I don't know, maybe you didn't know about me. Maybe you were in the same position as me, and you thought that you were Sandy's one and only. And maybe you were heartbroken when she left too. But I still hate you, because no matter what the deal was, I know that I loved Sandy more than anything. And maybe, the only reason I hate you is because I can't bring myself to hate Sandy. I just don't know. I'm sorry; I won't send this. I don't want you to start feeling worse, if you really did love Sandy. But I'm afraid to stop hating you too, because you're the one thing keeping me from hating Sandy. And

I don't think I could bear it if I hated Sandy.

Sodapop Curtis


	7. Johnny

A/N: Okay, this is the final chapter of my Letters fic, and I like to think that I saved the best for last. This is Johnnycake's letter, and it's the one that I personally like the most. Oh well, I'll see what you all think! And I'm sorry it took me so long to update.

Disc.: Same.

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Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm writing this because I don't know how else I can say this. If I told you to your faces, you'd probably just beat me some more. Not like that would be any different from every other time I said anything to you. I have a lot to say though, so please, just read this. For once, please do something that I ask.

First of all, I know you hate me. When I was little, I used to pretend that you loved me. I used to pretend that you only hit me because of the alcohol. I used to pretend that you only screamed at me because you were stressed. It's real easy to pretend when you're little. But then I grew up, and I knew that ya'll would never love me. It hurts to think about it; sometimes, I wanna kill myself because of it.

I was always the shy, quiet kid in school. There was nothin' special about me, and no one ever noticed me. I was lonely a lot. But when I finally did get friends, I got a little happier. They all cared about me. It was one of the first times I ever felt like anyone loved me, and it was great. But even though they were all like brothers to me, it still wasn't enough. Brothers can't replace parents. And that's what you were supposed to be; it was also what you weren't.

I got picked on a lot too. I've always looked younger than I am, and I've always been smaller than everyone else. Hell, even Pony was a little bigger than I am, and he's two years younger than me! But if I ever came home sad, you'd hit me and tell me to stop being such a fucking wimp. The one time that I came home cryin' when I was 13, you beat me with a 2x4, dad. It hurt like hell, but I didn't even think about cryin'. I was too afraid to. You weren't supposed to hit me, damnit! You were supposed to hug me and tell me that everything would be okay! That's what parents are supposed to do! They're supposed to care!

But you never did. When I came home a few months ago, beat nearly half to death by some Soc's, you just looked at me in disgust. Then you hit me again, and screamed that ya'll were sick and tired of livin' with a hoodlum under your roof. It didn't matter to you that I could barely walk straight, or that my face had such a bad cut that I would be permanently scarred for the rest of my life. Real parents would've been worried and gotten some peroxide for me, or they would've taken me to a hospital. But you didn't. Neither of you did, cause neither of you gave a damn.

I still hoped, though. I still had a little bit of hope that maybe you loved me. Dally always told me that you guys were nothin' but trashy scumbags, and that I shouldn't care about you at all. But I did anyways, because you were my parents. And that's why I hate you both; cause no matter what, I can't stop lovin' you.

Your son,

Johnny Cade


End file.
